It is a truth universally acknowledged that the moment things in my life start to become slightly easier, I feel the compunction to complicate things.  It’s summer vacation, which means no school to deal with.  L learned how to tie shoes.  C can entertain herself for hours.  A is walking and talking, which has cut down on the tantrums considerably.  Things were going well for us.

So of course, we had to complicate things.

We got a puppy.

“Got” is a relative term.  In actuality, my husband called me to come outside on Saturday night after I’d just put A to bed. He and the big girls had gone out for ice cream, and were playing in the yard until bedtime.  I walked outside, expecting to see a rainbow, or maybe a wild bunny.  I certainly didn’t expect to see a six-week old rat terrier puppy nestled in my husband’s arms.  And I CERTAINLY didn’t expect to hear these words out of his mouth: “Do you want a puppy?”

Now, my husband has had to be coerced into just about every pet that we’ve gotten in the past nine years.  Emmitt, our ten year old Boston Terrier, was mine before we met, so the hubby had little choice in that matter.  And as for the cats, let’s just say that L’s “Please Daddy?” works a LOT better than any of my attempts.  Even earlier that day the girls and I had peeked into a Petco adoption day, where I texted “Do you want to adopt a puppy for Father’s Day?”  He responded, “You might need to adopt a new husband, too.”

So you can imagine my surprise when he actually suggested that we take this puppy that had been so kindly offered to us from our neighbors.  He was the last of their dogs’ litter – the first one chosen, apparently,  but the prospective owners never showed back up.   The puppy parents were so well trained that we usually saw them around the neighborhood walking with their owners, sans leash (apparently rat terriers are very intelligent).

As soon as I took that little bundle of fur into my arms and inhaled the intoxicating scent of puppy breath, I was hooked.  There was no going back.  We named him Woodrow, Woody for short.  Sure, I could pretend that we named him after someone noble, like Woodrow Wilson, but let’s be honest – we all know that he’s named after the character from “Toy Story”.

And now, we are the proud managers of a menagerie consisting of  three kids, two cats, and two dogs.  I spent nap time Googling “how to get your puppy to sleep through the night” and taking the puppy outside to tinkle every hour instead of working on the five piles of laundry waiting to be folded.

Like I said.  Complicated.

But look at this little face and tell me if it’s worth it:


4 thoughts on “Complications

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